LIFETIME OF LAW

Greymouth Evening Star, 25 July 1936, Page 12

LIFETIME OF LAW

IN WIG AND GOWN. A man, it has been said, is seldom a hero to his valet; but the late Mr. Justice Avory was at least a hero to his clerk. Mr F. W. Ashley, who served him in that capacity for fiftyfour years, praises him for his remarkable consistency in “My Sixty Years in the Law,” an autobiography of distinction.

Avory was no sentimentalist; yet lie kept—until it was stolen not long before his death —the guinea he received for his first brief when he prosecuted at the Maidstone Quarter Sessions. “That,” Mr. Ashley observes, “was the only visible sentimental act of his 1 can recall.”

Another personality of the day was Sergeant Ballantine, called to the Bar in 1931. Affected by the spectacle of a wealthy bachelor apparently unaware of the pleasures to be bought for cash, this waspish wit once said to Henry Hawkins (Lord Brampton), “What is the use of hoarding money? It’s no use to you now, and even if you could take it with you when you die it would only melt.” Ballantine’s last brief in a dwindling practice was for a tailor in a minor dispute.. “I think he succeeded,” Mr. Ashley states, “but I know that the ungrateful client refused to pay the learned counsel his fees, and Ballantine had to compromise by accepting clothes in lieu of money!”

WITTY BALLANTINE. Late in life ho hoped to restore his fortunes by wooing a wealthy young widow, but his son “muscled in” and got both her and the cash. He retaliated by marrying an alternative little more than half the age of his son; whereupon Sir Henry James — later Lord James of Hereford —one of a syndicate which made him an allowance in his sere years, protested. "I consider you had no right to get married,” said James immediately the subject had been broached. “At your ago and in your position you cannot afford the luxury of marriage.” “Luxury!” exclaimed the unabashed annuitant. “My dear Henry, it is not luxury—it is a necessity.” In his prime Ballantine had been a master of repartee. On a hot summer day at the Bury St. Edmunds assizes he was addressing the jury when a donkey grazing in the graveyard beyond the open window began to bray loudly. The judge, Mr. Justice Willes, interposed: “Stop, brother, stop. One at a time, if you please.” “I beg your lordship’s pardon,” Ballantine retorted. “I was not aware that your lordship was giving judgment.” Sir Charles Gill had a weakness for saying nasty things in a nasty manner. A witness in the Baccarat case was an immaculately dressed person wearing a flowing tie and flourishing a cane with a long tassel. “Put that stick down,” barked Gill, “and attend to me . . . What are you?” “What tun I!” he murmured, trying to collect his scattered wits. “Yes, what are you? What do you do for a living? What good are you

to the world?” Gill asked in his nastiest tone of voice. “I’m a master of foxhounds,” murmured th© witness, who left the box like a whipped puppy. The Old Bailey judge, Mr Commissioner Kerr, disliked juries and prolix summings-up. To him, Mr. Ashley says, is accredited the most perfect ' summing-up he rejnembers. He was reported to have said: — “Gentlemen of the jury, you have heard the witnesses for the plaintiff. If you believe them you should find a verdict for the plaintiff. You have heard the witnesses for the defendant ' If you believe them you should give a verdict for the defendant. But if like myself you don’t believe any of them God alone knows what you will do. Consider your verdict.” In another Kerr case the prosecutor was a fat publican, with ‘‘spacious frontage” adorned by a valuable gold chain, who had been robbed in the poor part of The Borough. After sentencing the prisoner, Kerr asked the publican to stand forward; he advanced to the witness-box, expecting to be commended for assisting to bring a thief to justice. “Do you ever go to church?” was the first question from the Bench, and when it had been answered by a surprised “Yes,” the second came, “Do you ever repeat the Lord’s Prayer, ‘lead us not into temptation?’ ” Another “Yes,” but merely a whisper now. “Then what do you mean by lolling round in these poor streets where the people are half starving Showing a belly hung with temptation like that? Stand down. Your expenses are disallowed.”

CONFORMING TO TIME-TABLE.

Mr. Justice Hawkins, who tried Mrs. Dyer, the baby-farmer, became notorious for the late and exhausting sittings in his court, until a high authority pointed out the advisability of conforming to the usual time-table. Shortly after that he was hearing a civil action in the Royal Courts, and at a minute to four the evidence of one of the witnesses concluded. “Your lordship will not take another witness?” said counsel.

“Why not?” retorted the judge. “The court sits until four o’clock.” "Then I will call John Jones,” said counsel, and witness was sworn. "Your name is John Jones?” was the first question, as usual. “Yes,” replied the witness. "What are you, Mr. Jones?”

The judge closed his notebook with a slam and said, “Mr Jones can tell us in the morning what he is,” and vanished from the Bench.

A question arose in another case as to whether the man or the woman paid for the bee? in a public-house. “In this instance, my lord,” said counsel, the late Mr. Symons, “it -was the woman.” ■ - J

No, no,” interrupted Hawkins in the tone of one who knows better The man always pays for the beer.” Mi. Symons, who wore a monocle screwed the glass into his eye, and looking up at the judge with an innocent expression, said, “We are always glad to have the benefit of your lordship’s personal experience.” This is indeed an admirable book

for lay readers, since it reveals the I personalities under wig, gown and erImine, and is anecdotal as well as judicial. In so far as it deals with Mr. Justice Avory, it th >ws —the Lord Chief Justice suggest" in a Preface — “a pleasant light, no; otherwise to be obtained, upon the life and character of a great and sincere imm.”